


Stale Coffee and Fond Smiles

by corinnemaree



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 06:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinnemaree/pseuds/corinnemaree
Summary: Frank Castle was a Marine guy, he knew simple things like firing a gun and killing a man with the right thrust of his knife; being a barista in his own cafe was by far his hardest task to date.





	Stale Coffee and Fond Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Kastle fic that i've actually finished! i hope it's okay, and let me know if you'd like to see another part to it! xx

Frank Castle was a Marine guy, he knew simple things like firing a gun and killing a man with the right thrust of his knife; being a barista in his own cafe was by far his hardest task to date. When his wife had stated in her will that she wanted her next of kin to inherit the cafe, she was more than likely referring to their children, instead it fell to Frank’s hands. Only a few months after his return from his last deployment, his family died in a car accident; it was raining with crazy hail, they didn’t have a chance against an out of control car on the road. 

So, that’s who he was now, months on, a complete mess who didn’t know how to bake or make a decent cup of coffee without it being stronger than the black ash it looked like. He knew how Maria liked her pastries, fresh and homemade; his bricks weren’t exactly edible and should never be classified as food. Business, since his takeover was going downhill, but not fast enough to make an impact. Thank god for that at least. 

Sometimes it felt like this place was the only thing he had left of Maria. 

To be fair to himself, he’d gotten better with coffee, learning new types of ways to make it without trying to kill his customers by staining their insides black. He didn’t know any of that fancy shit but he could make a mean cappuccino. The cakes and pastries were still a disaster though, even after he hired a good chef, they were pretty shit. 

In the mad rush of the Monday morning, he was tired of the crowds and the people. Frank thought fighting insurgents was hard. He’d had to very quickly adjust his perception of difficulty after facing down a horde of coffee addicts waiting for their daily dose before work. His therapist said he should take the cafe- that having a business to put his time and energy into would be a good step forward - a way to distract himself and heal. He didn’t think healing was going to be this stressful.

Stress took him through the rush, the tension of it all, when a new customer came in. Frank was used to getting a few new customers in, but they eventually became regulars; this was someone new. She was tall and blonde, pencil skirt and heels that clicked against the tiles of the cafe. Frank was used to a few business types comin in, but as she tossed the perfect locks over her shoulder, Frank felt like he was in for a battle.

He’d never seen her before, and most people that came in were regulars, that knew of frank and his temper, as well as his ridiculously bad cakes. She got straight to the front of the line, smiling with rosy cheeks and lips that made her - somehow - glow. How the hell could a smile make someone glow like that? Frank felt outmanned by her, that he needed twice of himself for a moment. 

“Vanilla double shot mocha chai,” she said, scrounging in her purse. Frank’s brow knitted, but when she smiled at him, he gave over a huff and nodded. 

Frank turned, facing the metal behemoth that had been his wife’s coffee machine. When he first saw Maria challenging the machine with shrieks of fear, it was a funny enough endeavour, when he was never the one that it hissed and steamed at. Now, it was the reason for the many burns. Most of them coated his arms, his hands - and one embarrassing disaster - his face.  Reaching for the vanilla syrup, he tried desperately to recall how to make a mocha, let alone a mocha Chai. And did the coffee go in  _ before _ the syrup or after? 

The steam hissed as he put the milk into froth - the only thing he definitely remembered how to do -  he glanced up, and his eyes briefly locked with the woman that had ordered it. He tried not to flinch from her gaze and went back to the coffee. Was he making it as awfully as he thought he was. Who was he kidding, he was butchering this pour woman’s coffee. And God, Maria wanted to leave this to their kids? Did she want them dead? Frank had been fired at and stabbed multiple times, but dealing with these people day in and out was slowly driving Frank to war again - but in Queens. 

As the line built and the sweat beaded at his forehead, he heard hissing that wasn’t from the machine. Frank looked up to see the woman smiling and ushering him over with a soft hand. Frank stopped the machine, unsure of himself before going back over to the woman. She leaned across the counter, drawing him in for a short conversation. 

“Make it a cappuccino with a shot of vanilla instead,” she whispered, a wink in exchange for his fumbling mess at the machine. 

“Thank you,” he whispered back, trying to avoid the fact that he may have gone red in the face - a rare, but not foreign occurrence. With that sigh of relief, he worked fast as the machine, getting the cappuccino ready in no time at all, and dabbing a little vanilla into the mix to her specifications. As she handed over the money and taking her paper cup with the printed name  _ The Daily Grind _ on the side, she once again smiled a glow that made Frank give one over as well. It felt like it had been so long since he’d smiled, truly and honestly. And as he looked it over, noticing the substantial tip she added with her change. He was glad he smiled. 

As the rush dwindled to only a few customers scattered and meant Frank could get off the machine, he saw the blonde sitting in a booth, sipping at a probably empty cup by now. Straightening his shoulders and dusting his hands off on a rag, he threw it over his shoulder and came up to her table tentatively. 

“You doing good here? I thought you’d be off to work, sorry for the to-go coffee,” he said, snapping the woman’s attention to him. And for the third time all morning, she beamed a smile at him. 

“It’s okay, I just wanted to talk to the owner,” she said, tilting her head, a small and nervous query. 

“You’re speakin’ to him,” he said, sitting down across from her, relaxing into his spot in the booth.  

“You aren’t used to this business, are you?” she said, the cup tapping against the table and to Frank’s unsurprised ears, it was empty. As her head tilted and the light way her hair tumbled down her shoulder, Frank wasn’t compelled to lie or shy away from the truth. 

“It was my wife’s. Before she passed.” 

Her shoulders suddenly straightened, her posture up but still vulnerable; for his pain. Her smile faded, but there was never an ounce made him feel sorry for himself. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know words aren’t much, but I do mean it.” 

“Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“Thank you for the coffee,” she replied, gathering up her purse. Frank’s hand reached out slightly, trying to get her to stop. As she looked up, his hand dropped to the table. 

“You said you wanted to talk,” he said. 

“I like this place,” she nodded, glancing around the cafe. “Coffee could use some work, but I like it here,” she laughed, slipping out of the booth. She pulled her bag back up on her shoulder and walked past the window. She waved lightly and continued down the road, not taking a second glance to the cafe. Frank, on the other hand, continued to glance her way as he cleaned the tables every few minutes. 

Midway through the day, he went home, taking a nap before closing that afternoon. He may not have to do it, but it was always something Maria did, and he trusted how she ran the shop. Putting himself into a hoodie with his hair flat and messy, he walked to the cafe. He twirled the keys on his finger, whistling a tune that Lisa had often sung and danced to. As the chef and the poor new barista left for the day, Frank found it cathartic to clean the cafe after everyone. It wasn’t as if they’d done a bad job of it, it was just a needed routine that he lacked since being home. He didn’t want to see war anymore - and neither would Maria. 

As Frank cleaned the main counter, he heard the quick repeated knocks on the glass door. Frank’s attention shot up to the door, looking at the blonde woman from the morning. She waved when Frank finally noticed her and he dusted his hands before going to the door. Opening it up, it was as though she was suddenly flustered, her fingers playing together. “Hello again,” she greeted, a small nervous laugh in her voice.

“Hey,” Frank said, clearing his throat. 

“Can I?” she asked, pointing inside. 

“We’re not open,” he confirmed and she shook her head. 

“I know, I just..I wanted to talk to you,” she pressed. 

“To me?” She nodded. Frank shrugged. “Alright,” he said, letting her pass. She put her purse on the countertop. Her hands were still playing amongst themselves, nails running over soft skin. Frank had similar nerves. 

“I know this sounds kinda harsh or maybe a little presumptuous,” she started, shifting her weight around on her heels. “But did you want me to teach you how to make some coffee?” she asked, nipping at her bottom lip. Frank’s brow furrowed, an uncomfortable roll in his shoulders as he cleared his throat again. 

“I know how to make -” 

“You know how to make decent, basic coffee,” she said back quickly. Frank let her have that one. “If you’re going to do well in this neighbourhood, you’ve gotta get on the fancy stuff.” 

“I’m not good with any of that shit,” Frank grumbled, moving around the counter to finish cleaning. 

“Like I said, I can teach you. When I was in college, I was a barista. Got the bills paid, plus getting my own coffee at the end of the shift was always a bonus,” she explained, chuckling to herself. Frank scoffed out a laugh as he glanced up to the hopeful woman. “You don’t have to, I just wanted to help out,” she shrugged. 

Frank huffed, leaning against the counter. He knew this all too well now. He remembered the people that would do this after....how they’d react after they knew. “I don’t need someone feeling bad for me ‘cause of my loss.” 

“I feel bad for you because of the shitty coffee I got this morning,” she smirked and Frank laughed at that. Beaming a soft smile, Frank knew that the hopeful look was pure with no ulterior motive. “I wanna help because I care about this place. It’s nice. And the owner isn’t half bad, when you’re not the one he’s yelling at.” 

It took everything in him not to crumble down to the floor; she was too kind for her own good and she knew it, but god did it work. He huffed and gestured for her to come around. “Sure. I could use help.”

As she moved around the counter and to the machine, she extended her hand to Frank. “I’m Karen, by the way.”

“Frank,” he replied, watching her as she started telling him about the machine. Every so often, she’d tuck her hair behind her ear, laughing and smiling with confidence radiating out of her in that moment. Frank felt at odds with her, the kindness of her littered the surface of her, with the hardened shell of confidence and something else. She confused him and excited him, a person that he felt gravitated towards. It was impossible not to be captivated by her glow. 


End file.
